


Here's Looking at You, Kid

by BananaFana0883



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014)
Genre: F/M, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaFana0883/pseuds/BananaFana0883
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Rated R/Mature for language and some mild gore/blood.  Later chapters will probably have lots of feels, violence, sex, drugs and the whole shebang.  I will provide warnings and if I miss one, please let me know and I’ll add it.  </p>
<p>Obviously, I don’t own the TMNT characters/universe but my original characters are mine; please don’t use them without permission.  This takes place (mostly) within the 2014/2016 universe, but there may be elements of others as well.  All characters are adults - early twenties.</p>
<p>Fic title and chapter titles are lyrics from Here's Looking at You, Kid by The Gaslight Anthem.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. I Would've Been Her Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Rated R/Mature for language and some mild gore/blood. Later chapters will probably have lots of feels, violence, sex, drugs and the whole shebang. I will provide warnings and if I miss one, please let me know and I’ll add it. 
> 
> Obviously, I don’t own the TMNT characters/universe but my original characters are mine; please don’t use them without permission. This takes place (mostly) within the 2014/2016 universe, but there may be elements of others as well. All characters are adults - early twenties.
> 
> Fic title and chapter titles are lyrics from Here's Looking at You, Kid by The Gaslight Anthem.

“Fuck,” Gwen sighed, bracing a sudsy hand on the countertop as she stared down at the broken glass in the sink.  "Perfect end to a nice  _long_ day,“ she said softly, grabbing the dish towel and wiping her hands off before she set to work scooping the shards out of the sink and into the trash.  

Not that it was surprising, really, after being up at the crack of dawn, hustling two kids out the door - school for Sean and her neighbor’s house for Betsy - before going to work a nice eight hour shift at a greasy diner.  Then, of course, she got to come home and do the dinner thing, the homework thing and, maybe if she was lucky, there would be enough time for the three of them to sit down and read a book or watch some TV before bedtime.  Which, glancing at the clock, Gwen thought there would be  _just_ enough time for if she could finish getting the kitchen picked up and the laundry–

"Shit!”  Tossing the dishtowel back onto the counter, Gwen padded across the kitchen and stuffed her bare feet into the pair of cheap-ass flip flops she used as makeshift slippers.  "Sean, I’m going downstairs,“ she called, pausing to listen for the  _okay!_  that came floating from the bedroom at the top of the stairs.

Leaving the door open behind her, Gwen started down the old wooden staircase that led to the basement beneath her two story, vaguely townhousy, apartment.  It had been a single-family house once, grand and beautiful, and the two apartments it had been divided up into still held the hint of that beauty in the small details - like the ceiling medallions and the crown moulding - but the basement was what one would expect from such a place.  Dank and dark, the only light came from two bare bulbs hanging from the low ceiling - one at the bottom of the stairs and the other near the washer and dryer.

Stepping off the last stair, Gwen reached up to grab the pull cord just as something crunched underfoot.  Her hand paused and she glanced down to see broken glass under the foamy sole of her flip flop and then confused brown eyes lifted again to the bulb over her head.  Broken.  No,  _shattered_.  There was a distinct difference.

She dropped her hand from the chain as goosebumps sprang up over her bare, tattooed arms, the fine hairs there standing at attention as she scanned the darkness from the apparent safety of the rectangle of light at the bottom of the stairs, shining down from the kitchen.  The smell of the city came in on a breeze and Gwen’s eyes went to the brick stairs across the basement that led to up the bulkhead.  Open.  "Hello?” she called softly, hating the way her voice trembled.   _Call the police_ , she told herself, knowing better than to take chances with the kids right upstairs …

There was something - some sort of tingle on the back of her neck - that told her that she wasn’t alone and that feeling had her heart leaping into her throat and Gwen felt every muscle in her body tense as adrenaline surged.  "Say something or I’m calling the cops,“ she managed, the words coming out far stronger than the warbly question she’d posed only seconds earlier.

"Don’t.”  The voice was male, deep and rough with pain, but there was a hint of pleading in the tone that gave Gwen pause.  " _Please_ don’t.“

"Where are you?” she asked, taking a step forward.  Visions of some OD-ing junkie or injured homeless man sitting in the darkness filled her mind but neither of those things necessarily meant that the person in her basement meant her  _harm_.  "Are you hurt?  Should I call an ambulance?“  

"No,” he answered, the word coming out a rasp.  "Someone’s comin’ to get me.  I’ll be … I’ll be gone soon …“

Gwen took another step and then hesitated, unsure of what she should do next.  "I can’t just go back upstairs and hope that you’re gone when I come back,” she protested.  "And I need to get the laundry.“   _So my poor kids will have clean pajamas to wear tonight._  "But seriously,” she continued, “how am I supposed to just go about my business knowing that there’s some hurt guy in my fucking basement?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.  "I needed a place to hide.“  There was an odd sort of scraping noise, something hard and organic against the cement floor, and then another hitch of breath and a gasp.  

"Hide from  _what_?  Actually, you know what, don’t answer that.”  It was better not to know, right?  "Listen,“ Gwen started, taking another cautious step forward.  "You sound like you’re in rough shape …”

“Gwe–” he started, the name cutting off abruptly and quickly swallowed by the curse that followed.  "No.  Don’t–don’t come closer …“

Gwen drew up short, her blood running cold at the sound of what could only be her name.  She didn’t recognize the voice but obviously, whoever this person was, he knew her.  There were any number of scenarios that would have led to a strange man recognizing her, but none of them made her feel any better about this and calling the police suddenly seemed very appealing.  If he knew her name, then there was nothing  _random_ about this encounter … "Is this some kind of fucking joke?” she snapped, the trembling back in full-force once again.  

“Gwen, it’s …”  Another labored breath.  "It’s Raph.“

"Raphael?” she repeated, the world suddenly spinning around her.  She reached out, hand landing on the wall to steady herself.  She never thought she’d see them again!  Blinking away the disbelief, Gwen crossed the basement on suddenly sure feet, eyes seeking out the unfamiliar shape that didn’t belong in the otherwise familiar darkness …

There.  God, he’d  _grown_!  Gwen knelt down beside the huge turtle propped against the wall, features barely discernible in the darkness, but while her eyes may have been near useless, her other senses were working just fine.  The floor was tacky under her knees, blood soaking into the fabric of her ripped jeans, and there was enough of it that even her pretty lame human nose could pick up the coppery tang and the scent of warm leather.  Her hands reached for him tentatively, finding the pebbly - yet oddly  _smooth_ \- skin of his arm and for half a second her brain refused to believe that the bulky, sinewy limb under her hand belonged to the scrawny mutated turtle she remembered.  

A hiss of breath from between clenched teeth had Gwen snatching her hand back.  "Did I hurt you?“  

"No, ’s okay,” he rumbled.

“You sound so different,” she said softly, remembering that night when she’d said her tearful goodbyes to the strange childhood friends that everyone had assumed were imaginary.  

“We grew up, Gwen,” Raph answered, his hand finding hers without issue in the dark.

They all did.   _Ten years was a long time_ , she silently mused, hand squeezing his.  "How did you get hurt?“ she asked.  "Let me turn on the light and I’ll try to clean you up …”

“I broke ‘em both.”

“What?”

“The lights.  I broke 'em.”

Gwen blinked, eyes going to the broken bulb at the bottom of the stairs before flicking to the one hanging near the washer and dryer.  "Oh.  Well, can you stand?“

There was a beat of silence as he considered, then, "Yeah.”

There was another scrape that Gwen now recognized as the sound of his shell against the concrete floor and she reached to help him lever to his feet.  Not that she was much help, being that he was far larger than last time they’d seen each other; in fact, her help wasn’t much more than moral support, with a hand on his blood-slick plastron and another gripping his arm.  "Where are you hurt?“ she asked as they made their way toward the basement stairs and the light still shining down them.  

There was a black cat standing on the last step, peering at them curiously with glowing eyes and Gwen quickly shooed him back up the stairs as Raph reached for the wall with his good arm and gasped out, "Shoulder, mostly.”

“Okay, let me–oh!”  As they reached the light, Gwen found herself momentarily stunned by the sight of the turtle standing next to her, tall and built … well, built like a brick shithouse.  Those lanky limbs that she remembered had been pumped full of muscle and bulk, riddled with both old and new scars, with shoulders that filled the narrow stairwell …  

“Raph, oh my  _god_ ,” she breathed, eyes settling on the gaping wound where neck and shoulder met.  "What happened?“

He gave the barest shake of his head though, brushing aside the question in favor of looking at her intently with those amber eyes that were both strange and oh-so familiar.  They used to be wider, more innocent …  "Donnie’ll patch me up,” he said, surety in his voice.

_Donnie_.  The name sent warmth blossoming through her chest and Gwen couldn’t stop the smile that lit her face even as she ushered him up the stairs.  She let him set the pace but kept a hand on his decorated shell to let him know that she was a step behind him and stopping wasn’t an option.  "Sit down,“ she ordered gently, directing him to one of the kitchen chairs.

Raph chuckled, a breathy sort of noise, and gave her a lopsided grin, "Back in the day you woulda punched me and told me to  _sit my ass down_.”

Gwen grabbed a clean towel from the drawer next to the sink and gave him a smile over her shoulder, noting that despite his quip, he did as he was told.  "Maybe I’ve mellowed a bit in my old age.“  Her eyes flitted back to his injury, ” _You_ certainly haven’t.“  She pressed the towel to the seeping wound, wide and angry as it was, and pulled the edge of her lip between her teeth at his soft groan of pain.  "You never answered my question before; how’d this happen?”

“Foot Clan,” he answered, eyes flicking over the tattoos that covered her arms.  

Gwen blinked, taking in the pair of sais at his waist.  "Wait, so you’re that vigilante that they’re always talking about on the news?“

Raphael nodded, "Me and the guys, yeah.”

Really, she shouldn’t have been surprised.  The turtles had lived, breathed, and bled martial arts when they were young; why would that have changed in the last decade?  But them going out and fighting crime, keeping the city safe … well, that wasn’t much of a surprise either, truth be told.  All four of them had always had a sound moral compass - even Raph, despite his rough-around-the-edges ways - and if they were in a place to help people it wasn’t a stretch to think that they would.  

He was watching her, the weight of his gaze suddenly heavy as he cleared his throat and said, “Who’s Sean?”

Meeting his eyes, Gwen sat down in the chair next to him, tucking one foot beneath her so she could keep the towel pressed firmly against his shoulder.  The edge of his plastron was chipped, a crack zigzagging downward, and it had probably been the only thing that had kept this wound from killing him.  "My son,“ she answered, lifting her eyes to that familiar face and feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes.   _She’d missed them all so much._

"How old?”

“Six,” Gwen answered, her gaze steady as she watched his reaction carefully.  "And Betsy is two and a half.“

His brow ridges lifted behind the red bandana, "Ya got two of 'em?”

Gwen nodded, “They’re upstairs if you want to meet them.  I’m actually surprised they haven’t wandered down yet …”

Raph’s eyes widened just a touch and he cleared his throat again, words seemingly on the tip of his tongue, but then his attention went to the still-open basement doorway and the turtle standing there.  Gwen followed his line of vision, half turning in the chair as her face broke into a smile, “Leo!”

“Gwen?” Leo said, brow furrowing with disbelief.  

“Did you say Gwen?   _Did he say Gwen?_ ”

The voice that floated up the stairs from behind Leo was unmistakable, even if slightly deeper than she remembered it being, and seconds later Mikey shoved through the doorway, rather unceremoniously pushing Leo off to the side as he burst into the room.  "Holy shit!“ he exclaimed, bouncing across the kitchen and sweeping her up into a crushing hug.  "Look at you!  You’re taller!  And you have tattoos!”

Gwen found herself laughing, those tears that had threatened before suddenly spilling over her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around his neck in response.  "Like you should talk!“ she answered, pulling back and wiping away those wayward tears.  And then she was being pulled in for another hug, Leo this time, and past his impressive shoulders she could see Donnie moving the towel away from Raphael’s shoulder as he mumbled something about Raph being  _lucky_.  "You’re all huge!  When did that happen?”

“Puberty,” Donnie answered distractedly, popping open the first aid kit he’d brought with him and tearing open a suture kit.  "Probably around the same time you …“  He cast a pointed glance at her, obviously referring to her womanly attributes.

"Blossomed?” Michelangelo supplied with a helpful smile.  

“Blossomed?” Gwen repeated with a laugh.  God, she’d forgotten how effectively the four of them dominated a space and the noise and rough jostling - because Leo just had to give Mikey a shove with his elbow - was like coming home again.  There was a warmth there, in her tiny kitchen made even tinier by the huge mutated turtles filling it, that she was more than willing to welcome back into her life …

“Mama?”

That energy that had been buzzing in the air suddenly fizzled out as they all turned toward the archway that led to the living room and the two wide-eyed children standing there.  Betsy, doll that she was, immediately started forward, skirting around Leo with an unsure expression on her face as she made a beeline for the one person in the room that she was sure was safe: her mama.

Gwen swept the toddler up into her arms, settling her on a hip as she waved Sean into the room.  "It’s alright, baby,“ she said, moving a bit closer and holding out her hand in invitation for him to take it if he wanted.  "These are mommy’s friends.  You’ve heard me talk about Leo and Mikey before,” she continued, pointing to each in turn.  "And Donnie and Raph …“

And the turtles and the first grader stared at each other, none seeming willing to break the silence, until suddenly Mikey  _did_ with a  _w'sup little bro?_  which was immediately followed by him turning back to Gwen and giving her a delighted smile, "I can’t believe you have kids!”  

“Yeah, it was, uh, unexpected,” Gwen admitted with a smile.  She certainly hadn’t  _planned_ on getting pregnant at seventeen.

“So you’ve got, like, a regular little family here?” Mikey asked, stepping closer and giving Betsy a smile while casting a surreptitious glance at Gwen’s left hand.  "Are you married?  There a babydaddy hanging around?“

"Michelangelo!” Leo snapped.

“Dude, shut up,” Raph grumbled, ignoring Donnie’s order to keep still.

Mikey shrank a bit under his brothers’ discipline, blue eyes cutting toward them.  "Hey!  Just seeing if I still have a shot … “

Gwen’s eyebrow rose and she gave him a playful smile, "Like you ever did.”

Mikey backed up a step, straightening to his full height again as he gave her an exaggerated pout.  " _Hurtful_ , Cupcake.“  

The childhood nickname rolling off his tongue had Gwen softening even more and her eyes drifted back to Raphael as she absently shifted Betsy’s weight on her hip.  His eyes were fixed on the scratched and worn surface of the table, jaw set against the soft tugs of sutures pulling his flesh back together, a toothpick bobbing at the corner of his mouth every time his tongue hit it …

It was Sean’s voice that pulled her eyes away from the burliest of the turtles as he asked, "Are those real?”  The six year old lifted a hand and pointed to the twin katanas jutting over Leo’s shoulders, then to the nunchucks at Mikey’s waist.  

“Hell yeah they are!” And with that, Mikey was disappearing into the living room with the ginger-haired Sean, excitedly telling him to  _check this out!_

“When did you come back?” Donnie asked suddenly, glancing up from his morbid work and pushing his glasses up his nose.  

Gwen settled back into the chair Mikey had pulled her out of, settling Betsy in her lap and absently running her hand over the toddler’s white-blonde curls.  "About two years ago,“ she said.  "I tried looking for you guys; left notes at our old meeting spot but …”  She shrugged.

“Yeah, we haven’t really been back there,” Leo admitted, taking the last empty seat for himself.  "You’d been gone for so long …“

"You guys gave up on me, huh?” she asked, tipping her head slightly.  There was no anger in the words though, no accusation, because she’d basically done the same, hadn’t she?  Leaving notes for a few months and then, hell, she hadn’t been back there in at least a year!  

“No,” Donnie said, eyes intent on his work.  

“We just figured you were off livin’ your life or whatever,” Raph rumbled, meeting her eyes from across the table.

“Well, I’m back now,” Gwen said, those stupid tears threatening again, “And it would be nice to have some real friends again.”

Leo settled one hand flat on the table, leaning forward just a bit as he caught her gaze, “We’re not going anywhere, Gwen.  New York is our home and we’d never leave it.”

“Especially not in the shape it’s in now,” Donnie added, tying off the last suture and handing the dishtowel back to Raph, who began wiping the drying blood off his plastron.  

Gwen’s attention was on Leo though, eyes hardening as she said, “Was that some sort of dig?”

Leo drew back, shoulders straightening and brow furrowing, “What?   _No_.  You didn’t have a choice, Gwen, and we understood that.”

“ _Most_ of us,” Donnie muttered and the look that Raph threw him was enough to chill the room.

Gwen swallowed and ran a tired hand over her eyes, further ruining the makeup that her tears had already smudged.  "I  _didn’t_ have a choice,“ she said softly, eyes drifting toward the living room as Sean’s laughter carried through the doorway.  "I would have given anything to stay here with you guys.”  She’d begged them to bring her into the sewers, to let her live wherever it was that they did so long as she didn’t have to  _leave_.

“We know that.”  Leo’s words were gentle, his tone soft, and this time when he reached across the table, she took his hand and squeezed it.

The scrape of a chair over the linoleum broke that moment of eye contact and they all watched as Raph surged to his feet, dropping the bloodied towel onto the table and heading toward the basement door.  "Gonna 'ave a smoke,“ he growled, closing the door behind him.

The silence that followed his departure was only broken by the exuberant conversation happening between Mikey and Sean - video games, sounded like - and Gwen looked from Donnie to Leo with one eyebrow raised in question.  

"You know Raph,” Donnie said lightly, but the way his eyes flicked to Leo had Gwen positive that there was more to it than Raphael’s shitty attitude.  

“He’s just not good with … change,” Leo added, giving her hand one last squeeze before pulling his back.  He nodded at Betsy, offering her a kind smile that had Gwen smiling in response.  "We should go too.  I think your little one is ready for bed.“

Indeed, the toddler in her lap let out a jaw popping yawn, one pudgy fist rubbing persistently at her eye as she sank back against her mother.  The turtles both rose smoothly to their feet and Donnie circled to table to finally give Gwen a hug.  He was still lanky and tall, she noted, but there was a grace in those long muscles that he hadn’t possessed years ago and, more importantly, a wisdom in his eyes that wasn’t the least bit surprising.  

"I’m glad you’re back,” he told her, and then - tentatively - brushed the pad of his thumb over Betsy’s hand in a tender motion that made Gwen’s heart melt.

“I’m glad Raph found me,” she said softly, eyes going to Leo.  "Tell him he owes me for scaring the hell out of me and bleeding all over my house.“

"Get your kids into bed.  We’ll clean up the basement before we go,” Leo assured her, leaning in and placing a soft kiss atop her head.  "Hey Mikey, we’re on the move!“

Mikey popped his head into the room.  "What?  We’re leaving?  We just got here!”

“You’re leaving?” Sean echoed, disappointed creasing his soft, freckled features.     
  


“Aww, sorry little dude.  Papa Leo has spoken.”  He leaned closer to the boy, making a show of lowering his voice to a stage whisper as he said, “He’s the one who ruins all the fun …”

“Mikey!”


	2. A Million Nights Without Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood, violence, gore.   
> Rated R/Mature for adult themes, language.

_Slam!_

_Crash!_

“Fuck!”

Leo wished that he could say that the noises that carried out from the kitchen area were unusual, but living with his brothers meant becoming accustomed to a certain level of  _noise_.  Donatello tended to blow things up.  Michelangelo filled the lair with laughter, good-natured ribbing, singing, and other general nonsense.  From Raphael they got annoyed growls, roars of anger, the cracks of broken furniture or, as seemed to be the case as the moment, slammed cabinets.  

Typically, the katana-wielding turtle could tune it out.  He’d gotten adept at meditating through the chaos, clearing his mind despite the bickering or full out fighting going on around him, but this wasn’t just one of Raph’s moods; no, this was a throwback to ten years ago when Gwen had been sent to live with her mother in Boston.  They’d all tried desperately to support their hot-headed brother through his heartbreak, but none of them - twelve years old and dealing with their own loss - had been equipped to help him work through his grief.  Eventually, they’d had to come clean with Master Splinter and tell their father about the human girl they’d befriended and then lost.

Like he was known to do, Splinter had worked miracles.  He’d channeled their sadness and anger into constructive outlets, used the opportunity to teach them about love and loss as much as he was able to, and he’d taken special care with Raphael.  

But now …

“He’s in a tailspin, Sensei,” Leo said softly, leaning forward on the beat up old couch, elbows on knees and hands clasped.  His eyes were intent on the mutated rat sitting across from him, but when another crash came from the kitchen, he tensed.  "He never expected to see her again, none of us did, but …“  He trailed off, voice lowering even further as he glanced over his shoulder, "Sensei, I think he  _knew_ that was her apartment.”  

It had all made sense, once they’d gotten home and had the time to talk about it - after Raphael had disappeared into his room, of course.  Raph’s moods had been riotous for the last few months, the ups and downs far more drastic than usual, but none of them had been able to figure out  _why_.  Until two nights ago when they’d gotten the call for help from their brother.  It wasn’t a coincidence that Raph had let himself into that basement instead of taking to the rooftops but none of them had been willing to call him out on it and risk his wrath.  Even one-armed as he currently was, the beating wouldn’t be half-assed.  

“Raphael has never been able to move past her,” Splinter agreed with a nod.  "I don’t think he ever stopped looking for her …“

There was another crash from the kitchen and then Raph appeared, stomping through the lair with a sharp declaration of, "I’m goin’ out.”

Leo turned on the couch, “Raph, your arm–”

“Shut the fuck up, Leo,” came the growled reply.

Splinter reached out and laid a hand on Leo’s knee, “Let him go, my son.  He needs time.”

***

He couldn’t help himself.  He had to see her.  It was Friday night and, as had become customary, Raphael found himself perched atop the roof of the building next to Lust, a reputable - or as reputable as possible - gentleman’s club.  From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the alley behind the club, where the dancers stepped out for a cigarette or to take a phone call or just for a breath of fresh air after getting off stage.  Every Friday and Saturday night, for months whenever he could manage it, he’d sat in this same spot and sometimes it paid off;  _sometimes_ he’d catch a glimpse of her …

The heavy metal door opened and Raphael’s breath caught in his chest, sensitive ears easily catching the _click click_  of too-high heels as Gwen’s familiar form stepped outside, her cell phone clutched in one hand and the thump of music drifting through the open door.  She reached up and swept long platinum blonde hair away from the shaved patch on the side of her head, the color contrasting sharply with the silky black robe around her shoulders that was doing little to hide the lace and leather she was clad in.  

Those messy, conflicting emotions swelled within him, jaw clenching as he watched her turn back to the bouncer and take the offered cigarette with a thank you.

“You want me to wait out here with you?” Raph heard the bouncer say.  

“No, I just need a minute,” Gwen answered, leaning closer and slipping the cigarette between painted lips.  The bouncer lit the end and then, with a grin, disappeared back inside, leaving her alone.  She wrapped an arm around her ribs and took a deep haul off the cig, eyes drifting closed as the sounds of the city surrounded her.

She was more beautiful that he remembered and Raph swore he could still feel the softness of her hand against his own calloused palm, memories of shared candy and music pumping through headphones filling him with warmth that he immediately tried to push away.  _She’s not the same person_ , he told himself for what felt like the millionth time.  The Gwen he remembered never would have sunk low enough to take her clothes off for a club full of horny assholes … but then, the Gwen he remembered had always been a survivor, even when she was thirteen.

“You deactivated your GPS.”

Raph’s lip curled in a snarl as he turned to find Donatello standing behind him, bo staff held deceptively loose in his hands.   _Probably expectin’ to get punched._   "So?  I do it all the time when I need t’ get away from you dickheads.“

"Yes,” Donnie said vaguely, stepping toward the edge of roof and peering over.  He didn’t speak at first, but Raph could easily recognize the subdued surprise on his younger brother’s face, the faint parting of lips, the rise of his brow ridges.  "How long have you known she was back?“ he asked, eyes still on the blonde figure below.

Raph turned to peer down into the alley again, watching as Gwen flicked the ashes off the end of her cigarette and woke up her phone, face illuminated by the soft glow from the screen.  ”‘Bout a year,“ he answered, tonguing the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.  After he’d found her note in the sewer where they’d met as children, it had taken him months to muster up the courage to answer it with one of his own but then there had been nothing but silence.  "Took me almost that long t’ find her.”

“I could have helped.”  Donnie turned back to him, absently spinning the bo before securing it on his back with practiced movements.

Raph heaved a grumbly sigh, unable to bring himself to tell his brother that he hadn’t asked for help because he hadn’t wanted to share her - he’d done that enough when they were young; when she was the shiny new toy in their lives.  She could give them firsthand knowledge of  _school_ and  _the mall_ , had access to things that they had to wait for, like music or movies; she was an opportunity for Mikey to be social, for Leo to be a fucking  _gentleman_ , and for Donnie to learn, and they’d each latched onto her in a different way.  And that had been the problem: there was only one Gwen but there were four of them.

No, he couldn’t admit any of that out loud, so instead he lifted a muscled shoulder and grunted out, “Whatever.”  

“So this is what you’ve been doing when you go out on your own?” Donnie asked, gesturing toward the alleyway again.  "Watching her?“

"Sometimes.”  Raphael shifted his weight, the set of his jaw and shoulders making it clear how little he wanted to talk about any of this.  "Makin’ sure she’s safe,“ he admitted, rubbing a thumb absently over the hilt of a sai.  

"Is she?”

Raph shrugged again, “I guess.  Had some guy trying to ask her on a date after 'er shift a few weeks ago.  Bouncer took care of 'im.  'Side from that, things seem pretty quiet with her …”

***

It was the sound of footsteps that that caught Gwen’s attention, causing her to glance up from her cell phone and the game of Spider Solitaire that had been occupying her mind.  She tensed, easily recognizing the darkened figure heading toward her, sauntering down the alley without a care in the world.  "I’m supposed to be meeting Ronnie in the morning,“ she said, tossing her cigarette aside and self-consciously pulling the robe tighter around her body as she slipped the phone into her pocket.  

"Yeah, well you know Ronnie,” Brian said, pulling up to a stop under the light.  "Impatient as ever.“  

Gwen felt her pulse pick up.  Out of all the henchmen Ronnie could have sent, why did it have to be  _Brian_?  She never felt as vulnerable as she did when he settled those dead eyes on her …

Straightening her shoulders, Gwen lifted her chin just a touch as she said, "I don’t have all of it though.  That’s why I’m still here.”  Technically, her shift had ended at eleven.  "I told Ronnie that last night …“

"I’ll take whatever you made tonight.”  He smiled, but the gesture did nothing to ease her nerves. “Every little bit helps.”

“That wasn’t the deal!” Gwen fired back, indignant anger putting an impressive amount of  _oomph_ behind her words.  "Does Ronnie even know you’re here?“  

"Don’t you worry about that, Princess,” Brian said, stepping closer.  "Now be a good girl and get me whatever you’ve made tonight.“

Gwen took a step back and immediately hated herself for doing it, but self preservation was a strong instinct and there was no doubt in her mind that Brian was capable of doing terrible things to her if she didn’t comply.  Adrenaline surged through her body, causing her hands to shake but when she spoke, her voice was softly insistent, "Ronnie’ll get the money in the morning.”  

The faint curl of those cruel lips was Gwen’s only warning before he was on her, hands balling into the silky fabric of her robe as he slammed her back against the wall.  The force of the blow stole the breath from her lungs, everything going black as her head connected with the bricks, and before her vision could clear survival instincts kicked in.  She lashed out, half-forgotten training and muscle memory coming to her rescue and she sent a savage elbow toward where she could feel his breath against her face …

_Crack_.  

The shock of the hit sent pain radiating down to her fingertips, up into her shoulder, and then she was blinking away blackness to find Brian stumbling back a step, hands cradling his face as he roared, “You fucking whore!”  

_He’s gonna kill me_.  The knowledge brought with it a sob and for the span of a heartbeat, as she sank back against the brick wall, hopelessness was all she felt.  Maybe,  _maybe_ if by some miracle he wasn’t armed, then maybe she would have a chance … but he was reaching behind him, to the small of his back where, undoubtedly, a pistol rested–

And then the shadows behind Brian came alive, separating into two tall figures that Gwen immediately recognized and in that moment she was a little girl again and there was Raphael, looming over her attacker with murder in his eyes.  There was a faint whir and then Donatello’s bo was taking Brian’s feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the pavement with another curse and Raph was moving in.  Every movement the red-masked turtle made sang with tension, the promise of violence coiled in every muscle, and the blows he landed on the fallen thug possessed nothing of the languid grace his brother had displayed only seconds earlier.  Knee planted in the center of Brian’s chest, Raphael’s one-armed attacks were as subtle as a wrecking ball and just as destructive …

“Gwen!  Gwen, look at me!”  

It wasn’t his voice, but rather Donnie’s hand on her shoulder that pulled Gwen’s eyes from the scene before her and chased away the hellish memories flooding her brain.  She blinked, sudden panic overwhelming her and she pushed past Donatello. The movement made her vision waver again and nausea had sweat breaking out across her skin.  "Don’t kill him!“

Raphael paused at the sound of her voice, hand upraised and knuckles bloodied.

"Raphael, please don’t kill him!” Gwen continued, grabbing Donnie’s arm for stability as she stepped forward on legs that felt like jell-o.  Or maybe it would be better if they  _did_?  Did anyone know that Brian was here trying to shake her down?  Had he seen his attackers?  The questions swirled through her head like a tornado, leaving her silent once again as Raphael rose to his feet and moved towards her, the anger on his face melting into concern.  He reached for her, hand gripping her shoulder as he took Donnie’s place to help her stay upright.

“She has a concussion,” the taller turtle reported over his shoulder, earning a grunt of acknowledgement from Raph, and then he was moving on to scan the motionless body before them.  "He … has far more than a concussion.“

"Will he wake up?” Gwen asked, her hand smoothing over Raphael’s plastron, absently fingering the whorls and scratches she found there.  A leather strap interrupted the expanse of his chest, and further down, the sling that was keeping his injured shoulder immobilized, and seeking the tactile comfort, her hand skipped past both in favor of the hard plates that decorated the front of his torso.  It was soothing, steadying, and helped her to swallow back the bile creeping up her throat.

“Hard to say,” Donnie answered.  He looked up at them, “But doubtful.  Fractured orbital - by the way, that was a nice elbow, Gwen - and his skull is cracked right here and–”

“We’ll take 'im with us,” Raph decided, interrupting the diagnosis.  "Dump him somewhere.“  

Raph’s words had Gwen suddenly aware of how long she’d been outside and her hand stilled.  Had fifteen minutes passed yet?  Would someone be coming to get her?  It was nothing short of a miracle that no one had popped their head out the door yet.  Which meant she’d probably jinxed it.  "You guys have to go,” she insisted, ebbing adrenaline picking back up.  She patted Raph’s chest to emphasize her point,  "Now.  Take him and go.“

Raphael turned back to her and Gwen found herself meeting his eyes as he said, "Come with us.”

“I can’t–” she began, but the protest died on her lips as she watched his face, noted the hints of pleading there in the set of his brow ridges, and she found herself nodding instead.  "Okay,“ she acquiesced.  "Yeah, okay.”


	3. Cut You To Ribbons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated R/Mature for adult themes, language.

Within minutes, Gwen found herself standing on six-inch heels at the bottom of a sewer ladder and it was only then, as the shock and panic began to fade, that all of the implications of both her actions and the turtles’ settled on her shoulders.  She reached out and gripped one of the ladder rungs as a fresh wave of nausea washed over her.  What if Brian  _had_ been acting on Ronnie’s orders?  "I have to get the kids.“  

"Gwen,” Donnie started, lifting a placating hand.  "You have a concussion and I’ll need to stitch that cut on your head–“

Cut?  She reached up, touching the impressive contusion behind her ear, but the blood on her fingers was a distant worry.  "It can wait!” Gwen insisted.  "I have to make sure my kids are safe!“  Her eyes went from Donnie to Raph, "You guys have no idea what sort of shit  _this_ ,” she jabbed a finger toward the limp body slung over Raphael’s shoulder, “could bring down on my head!”

“Yeah, we need t’ talk ‘bout that,” Raph grumbled, shifting his considerable bulk in an outward show of his agitation and worry.  

“Not now, Raphael,” Donnie said, stepping closer.  "Gwen, we’re not going to leave your kids.  I’ll call Leo and fill him in; he’ll probably send Mikey over to your apartment and come pick us up himself.“  He made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass all of them, including Brian’s unconscious body, "You just need to be a little patient.”  A smile, “We can’t exactly take the subway.”

***

While the subway may have been out of the question, it seemed the boys had their own ways of traveling efficiently through the city.  When everyone was hale and healthy, their preference was rooftop travel but when burdened with an unconscious man and a woman with a head injury, taking their own wheels was the best bet.  

They hadn’t had to wait long before Leo showed up in a tricked out van that Gwen quickly learned was the _Party Wagon_  - a name that earned them a dubiously arched eyebrow as they loaded Brian into the back.  Had her mind been less occupied with the worries of what was to come, there was no doubt that she would have given them an epic amount of shit for it, but as it was, she was just relieved to be able to sit down for a few minutes - on green shag carpeting, of all things - and watch absently while Donnie examined Brian.  

She was on the phone with Vic, her boss at Lust, spinning a tale about not feeling well and deciding to head home and that she was _so sorry she didn’t say anything_  and  _no, everything was just fine_  …

“… Yeah, I should be in tomorrow night but I’ll call you and let you know for sure.  Oh, I forgot my bag - could you ask Hannah to grab it for me?”  She smiled into the phone, “Thanks Vic, you’re the best.”  She slipped the phone back into her pocket, eyes going to Raph as he tipped his head toward the unconscious thug on the floor of the van.  

“Who’s this jerk-off anyway?”

“I don’t want to talk about it yet,” Gwen said with a shake of her head.  She reached out and ran her fingertips along the back of his hand, a small outlet for the desire for physical comfort she felt so keenly in that moment.

He opened his mouth, probably to argue with her, but Gwen just shook her head again.  "Raphael, I need my kids with me before I can deal with this, okay?“  Because a paranoid call to the babysitter, who assured her that everything was fine, just wasn’t cutting it.  She needed to see them, to hold them in her arms, because no one could protect her babies like she could - not even Mikey, who had been sent over to her apartment to keep watch just like Donnie had assumed.  She ran her thumb back and forth over Raph’s bruised knuckles -  _bump bump, bump bump_  - tone softening just a touch, "Just let me make sure they’re safe and then I’ll tell you guys whatever you want to know, okay?”

There was a beat of silence, then he nodded, “Yeah, alright.  I hear ya.”  

A smile graced her features, a bit wan with worry and pain, and she made a feeble attempt to lighten the mood in the van as she held up her hand to show him red-painted nails.  "I’m guessing it’s still your favorite color?“

Raphael’s smile was self-conscious, a bare upturning of his lips as he glanced away to see just how much attention his brothers were paying them, and Gwen knew that, while it may have been hard to see under all that green, he was totally blushing.  Even still, he turned his hand over so it was palm up under hers, then curled his fingers so the tips brushed softly against the sensitive skin of her palm.  This time, the smile on his face was soft and meant only for her, as he said, "Yeah, it’s still my favorite.”

There was a polite clearing of a throat and Raph pulled his hand away in response, turning darkened eyes on Donnie as the younger brother asked, “Gwen, we’ve got a bit of time; can I take care of that cut on the back of your head?”

“Go for it, Don,” Gwen agreed, but throughout his ministrations, her eyes stayed on Raphael.

***

It had been decided that Gwen, her children, and their cat - dubbed Ironman by Sean - would be staying with the turtles for a few days, or at least until they knew whether any of them were in danger.  While this made Gwen feel much better, packing what they’d need had been quite the feat.  She’d sent the babysitter on her way with a bullshit story to explain her appearance - she’d fallen on stage and a friend was coming by to hang out for the night - and then it had been down to business.  Unfortunately, her head was pounding, making it difficult to concentrate and they’d made about ten trips back and forth to the Party Wagon to grab things she’d forgotten before she’d even bothered to wake up the kids.  

Gwen had known, obviously, that her friends lived in the sewer; it had been the topic of conversation on more than one occasion when they were young.  While they had been curious about her life, she had been just as curious about theirs and her questions had ranged from their training, to their father, to their home and, of course, how they had become what they were.  The answers had often left her with more questions - _He’s a rat?  Really?  What’s a hogosha?_  - but it had been impossible to call them liars when their very existence proved their words to be true.  So while there had been things that she hadn’t yet seen with her own eyes, like their sewer home and their rat father, Gwen was very prepared for what she was walking into.  Or at least she’d thought she was.

“So this is it!” Mikey said, spinning in a circle with arms flung wide.  "Sewer sweet sewer.  Whataya think?“

"Wow,” Sean breathed, eyes going immediately to the bank of monitors against the far wall.  That was Donnie’s territory, Gwen was sure.

“It’s, um …”  At a loss for words, she shifted the sleeping toddler in her arms, pretty sure that the only thing keeping her on her feet was the combination of the Converse sneakers she’d changed into, the tylenol she’d popped before leaving the apartment, and sheer stubborn willpower.  "You know,“ she said, giving him a smile, "It’s surprisingly homey.”  

And it was, upon closer inspection.  First glance would have her thinking it was nothing more than a man cave with posters and stolen street signs hanging on the walls, a halfpipe taking up one wing, and graffiti decorating the walls and the floors, but there was a warmth in all the chaos that spoke of shared laughter and inside jokes and the deep bond between the fives males that shared the space.  While the walls may have been cold, the lair was anything  _but_ and it reflected them perfectly.

“Homey, yeah!” Mikey exuberantly agreed and Gwen couldn’t help but wonder where the can of Orange Crush in his hand had come from.  "See, over there, that leads to the dojo, where we train, and–“  His blue eyes lit with excitement as they settled on Sean, "Hey, let’s go let the cat out!”  

And just like that, the two of them were off and Leo was returning from wherever he and Donnie had carried Brian and smoothly stepping in, “Please make yourselves comfortable.  Our home is your home while you’re here.”  

“Thanks Leo,” she said, heading toward the worn out couch in front of the bank of monitors.  She sat down, holding the sleeping toddler close and continuing to rock back and forth with her for a moment until she went still again, then she looked up at Leo with eyebrows raised in question.  He was hovering - even more so than Raphael, which was saying something - and it was obvious that there was something on his mind.  "Alright, spit it out,“ she ordered with a tired smile.

Leo opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it closed again as Gwen peered past him at the giant rat walking toward them.   

"Gwen,” Splinter said as he approached, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”  

“Thank you, Splinter,” she returned and, unexpectedly, she found herself nodding respectfully.  There was just something about him, the set of his shoulders and the dignified way he held the gnarled wooden cane, that commanded her attention.  Part of it, she knew, was that she’d heard so many stories about him and seeing him in person only completed that mental image she’d held onto all these years.  It was like she’d known him forever.  "It’s nice to meet you too.“

Splinter turned to Raph and Leo, "Leonardo, Donatello could use your help in the infirmary.  Raphael, if you could see to Gwen’s bags?”

The two nodded and turned to do as they were told, leaving Gwen - and the sleeping Betsy - alone with the rat who had raised her childhood friends.  "We shouldn’t have to stay long …“ she started, wanting to make it clear how thankful she was for their hospitality but he was shaking his head at her words.

"It is no inconvenience,” Splinter assured her, settling into the battered arm chair with its pizza box ottoman.  "You are very dear to my sons and always welcome in our home.“  He watched her closely with those wise dark eyes, "It seems trouble has found you …”

Gwen gave a soft snort of amusement, “Trouble found me ten years ago.”  She brushed her hand over the toddler’s curls, finding it easy to imagine how different her life would have been had she run away and come to live here instead of going to Boston.  Of course, then she wouldn’t have Sean and Betsy …  "But your sons were always a bright spot,“ she added with a genuine smile.  "Even when I was in Boston.”

Splinter smiled fondly, as any parent was wont to do when discussing their children.  "They do tend to shine brightly when they so choose.“

"I think you can take a lot of the credit for that,” Gwen praised.  "You did an amazing job with them.“  God, if she could be half the parent a rat was to four turtles she’d consider it a success …

He gave a small bow of his head and shoulders that somehow was still graceful despite the fact that he was sitting down.  "I thank you for your kind words.”  Another smile, “They were not always easy.”

Gwen chuckled softly, careful to keep Betsy sleeping soundly.  "And they are now?“ she joked lightly, eyes drawn to movement as Ironman slunk closer.  He was exploring, lean black body in full predator mode as he scoped out the new surroundings … and then he froze, eyes fixed on the rat who was peering at him patiently.  "Oh,” Gwen breathed, eyes widening.  Why hadn’t any of them  _said anything_  when she’d insisted they take the cat with them?  "Oh, Splinter, I didn’t even think–“

He waved away her words, "Do not worry, child.  He is not the first feline I’ve faced.”  He reached out one long-fingered hand toward the cat, leaning forward in the chair, and Ironman moved forward as well to sniff curiously at the confusing creature before him.  For a moment the two stayed that way, Splinter waiting patiently until the cat ducked his head and rubbed against the rat’s hand in an obvious show of acceptance.

“I thought Ironman was gonna try to hunt you!” Sean said with a peal of laughter as he skipped across the lair toward them, Mikey trailing along behind.  

“Shh! Sean, Betsy’s sleeping” Gwen said, reaching out to pull him into a one-armed hug.  "Did you say hello to Master Splinter?“

"H'lo,” Sean said, brown eyes going to the rat as his freckled face broke into a bright grin and he pushed away from his mother to bounce closer to Splinter.  "Can I touch your fur?“ was just the first of a series of rapid-fire questions sent toward the poor Sensei, who handled the youthful exuberance with a practiced grace.

The cadence of Sean’s voice and the way he, literally, couldn’t stand still prompted Gwen to turn her attention to Mikey.  "Did you give him soda?” she asked, pinning him with an expectant stare.  

“Who me?” Mikey asked, eyes widening with feigned innocence.   "No!  No, of course not–well, maybe just a little bit?“  He paused, "Was I not supposed to?”

“Mikey, it’s three in the morning!” Gwen shook her head, “Of course you weren’t supposed to!”

“He said he liked it!” the orange banded turtle insisted.  "I was just trying to make him feel comfortable, y'know?“

And how could she really blame him for that?  He’d been trying to help, just like he was known for, and he had no way of knowing that giving a six year old soda in the middle of the night meant there would be no sleep to be had until the inevitable sugar crash.  So she took pity on him and his good intentions, her face softening as she said, "Well good, he can sleep in your room tonight.”

Mikey’s face brightened again, “That’s cool!  We can like, read comics and stuff …”

“Really?” Sean blurted, attention seized away from Splinter at the mention of comics.  "I wanna see them!“

As the two took off yet again, Gwen fought back a yawn, but it seemed to be enough for the perceptive rat across from her.  "You should rest,” he suggested, though there was something in his tone that made her think it was more of an order than a polite suggestion.

“Um, where should we sleep?” she asked, casting a glance around.

“You can use my room,” Raph offered as he returned from wherever he’d taken their bags.  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes darting toward his sensei as if seeking his permission, “I’ll crash on the couch.  C'mon, I’ll show ya.”

“Good night, Gwen,” Splinter said.  "We will talk more in the morning.“

"We will,” she assured him, gathering Betsy close and rising from the couch.  "Thank you again.“

***

Gwen wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been expecting when Raph had drawn back the curtain separating his sleeping area from the rest of the lair, but the neat and tidy room she found was surprising at first - much like her first impression of the lair as a whole.  The more she looked though, the more she realized it was just so perfectly Raphael.  There was a speedbag in the corner, patched and stitched back together what looked like a million times, and in the opposite corner, a clothesline was hung with drying clothes.  A stack of books and magazines in the corner were all exactly what she’d expect - Sports Illustrated, Black Belt magazine, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH …

Raph shuffled his feet behind her as Gwen settled the sleeping toddler into the nest of blankets and pillows in the center of the bed.  She pulled the knitted blanket up over fleece clad legs and leaned down to press a kiss to those soft platinum curls and murmur a good night.  Poor baby was exhausted and she certainly wasn’t the only one.

Gwen straightened, absently rolling her shoulders in an effort to loosen up the aching muscles there, and her eyes landed on the No Doubt poster hanging on the wall.  It wasn’t prominently displayed, one corner covered by a Wu-Tang poster and the other a snapshot of Raph and Mikey flipping off the camera, but the fact that it was there at all had Gwen’s face breaking into a bright smile and she turned back to the huge turtle waiting silently behind her.  "Seriously?” she asked with a hushed laugh.

Raphael shrugged, eyes dipping down and away from her in something charmingly close to embarrassment.  "So?  I just never took it down.“  

Twenty bucks said that was a lie, but Gwen didn’t push it, and instead she sank down to sit on the edge of the bed, taking his hand and pulling him down with her.  His amber eyes went to Betsy’s sleeping form but Gwen shook her head, "She’s out cold and will stay that way as long as we keep it down.”  Her smile took on a wistful edge, “Besides, I’m not passing up an opportunity to get a few minutes alone with you.”  

There was another obvious flush to his skin as he settled down next to her, the mattress shifting with his weight, but when he met her eyes there was an earnestness there that betrayed how very much he had to say, though Gwen doubted he’d vocalize even half of it.  Sometimes talking to Raphael was like sitting in the middle of a hurricane, other times it was like dragging a body through the snow while wearing bricks strapped to your feet.  

“Gwen, I don’t …” he trailed off into a frustrated growl as the words eluded him, shoulders sinking and his eyes drifted away from her again.

“Hey,” Gwen said softly, reaching out and laying a hand on his forearm, “Talk to me, Raph.  Please?”

He heaved a sigh, that impressive chest expanding and drawing her eyes downward, and not for the first time, Gwen was struck by how  _big_ he was.  Her gaze lifted again though, as he swallowed and the words started with an inhale …

“I just missed ya so much,” Raph started, voice low and rough with emotion.  "I never thought I’d see ya again but I still …“  He paused, "I still hoped I would, I guess.  I was afraid you’d find someone human, someone normal, and come t’ ya senses …”

The honesty in his words, the longing in his tone, had hope blossoming in her chest and Gwen reached up to cup his cheek.  "Raphael,  _human_ doesn’t necessarily mean  _normal_.“  And if he’d seen some of her past relationships, he’d understand exactly how much experience she had with supposedly 'normal’ humans.  She licked her lips, still tasting hints of the red lipstick that had earlier coated them, and continued, "We had something back then and circumstances shit all over it, but … I dunno,  maybe we’re getting a second chance?”  She searched his face, but what she saw there wasn’t very heartening and, seconds later, he pulled away and rose to his feet.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, turning away from her with a roll of his shoulders.  "Why do you–I mean, you don’t …“  He gave another growl, still searching for the right words without even realizing that he didn’t need the  _right_ words, he just needed the  _real_ ones …

"You’re different, Gwen …” he finally settled on, turning his head just enough so he could see her from his peripherals.  

Gwen blinked, eyebrows knitting in confusion.  Of course she was different - they all were - but a decade had passed and they’d all grown up–  Wait.  Was he …  _rejecting her?_   He was!  There was no denying his body language, the way he turned away from her and closed himself down so thoroughly …

Sure, she’d been rejected in the past, but Raphael - of all people! - telling her that he didn’t want her hit harder than her head connecting with those bricks earlier.  And was he hinting at what she thought he was?  "Different?“ she repeated.  "Different  _how_?”

He shook his head, back still to her, and answered, “Just  _different_.”

Her lips parted, hurt fueling the anger that settled hotly in the center of her chest, cramping her stomach and forcing her to her feet.  "Say it,“ she demanded, circling around him and reaching up to grab his chin.  "Look at me and  _say it,_  Raphael.”

He jerked back, pushing her hand away as a snarl curled his lip, “You want me to say it?  Fine, I’ll say it!  The make up, the fuckin’ glitter all over ya.”  He leaned closer, words coming out a hiss, “Takin’ your fuckin’ clothes off for a livin’.  I can’t …”

Gwen’s shoulders straightened and that anger had her face flushing, her blood racing, and before she could stop herself, her fist connected with his jaw.  It was a small satisfaction, seeing him knocked back a step, his calf hitting the bed behind him and roughly jostling the entire thing, and the surprised expression on his face quickly melted into anger.  "Fuck you!“ Gwen fired back before he could open his stupid mouth again.  

"Get off your high- _fucking_ -horse, Raphael,” she continued, taking a step closer and shaking away the pain in her hand.  The fact that he could snap her like a twig if he so desired didn’t even cross her mind because, despite seeing him nearly beat someone to death just hours earlier, she knew that Raph would never hurt her.  She  _trusted_ him.  "You don’t get to judge me!  You have no clue what I’ve been through or what choices I’ve had to make!“  

"I know yer better than that!” he shouted back, neither of them even trying to keep their voices down anymore.  A pissed off wail came from the bed, as little Betsy rolled onto her belly and levered herself up onto hands and knees.

“Better than  _what_?” Gwen returned, emotion crackling through her voice.  Betsy’s cry was like the straw that broke the camel’s back and all of the stress and exhaustion - mentally and physically - had Gwen cracking under the pressure, leaving her raw and unable to censor the torrent of words that suddenly exploded out of her mouth.  "Better than putting food on the table?  Than being able to give my children a Christmas?  That’s complete bullshit!  You don’t know anything about me anymore!  It’s been ten years, Raphael!  I grew up and became a different person and you,  _obviously_ , didn’t!“

Raphael’s face fell, emotions flickering across his features faster than Gwen could label them and, had she been in a clearer frame of mind, the display would have had her guilt-ridden and apologizing, stumbling over her words to try and smooth things over.  Raphael had never been overly comfortable dealing with painful emotions though and just like she knew he would, his face settled into an angry scowl, mouth opening to shoot some barbed retort back at her, but she didn’t want to hear it.  Gwen reached out and tugged back the curtain.  "Get out!” she ordered, the words snapping like a whip and cutting off whatever he’d been about to say.  

“Fine!” he roared, voice echoing through the lair and Gwen couldn’t help but jump when his fist hit the wall outside the room.


	4. Tell Her It's Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: attempted rape, violence against a minor.   
> Rated R/Mature for adult themes, language, drug use, gore.

*Ten years ago.*

Gwen pressed her ear to her bedroom door and held her breath, listening carefully for a break in the silence.  Seconds passed -  _one, two, three, four …_  - and slowly she turned the knob and eased the door open, face screwing up into a wince at the squeak of hinges, but her father didn’t even stir from where he slumped on the couch.  Quietly and cautiously, she passed through the living room, pausing only for a second as her father’s head lolled to the right and his hand twitched, causing the spent needle to fall from numb fingers, and then she was creeping forward again.

She headed for the front door, then stopped on a whim and turned back to him, a wistful smile crossing her face.  "I love you, daddy,“ Gwen whispered, then ducked out the door and closed it softly behind her.  

Sidestepping a pile of what she was pretty sure was dog shit, Gwen took off down the hallway at a trot, bypassing the faulty elevator completely and heading for the stairs instead.  She skipped down them, the bounce in her step betraying her excitement as she burst through the front door of the apartment building and into the cool November air.  There was a group of guys loitering around outside the building, and aside from a nod from one, they paid her little mind as she ran past.

It was the same route she took every time she was able to sneak out, which these days was more often than not, considering the state her father was in, and it took little thought to navigate the alleyways and small parking lots.  Scaling the chainlink fence was done quickly and nimbly and landing on the other side drew only the barest of grunts from her lips, and then she was off again.  Same route, same meeting place, same thrill that thrummed through her veins.

Reaching the train tracks, Gwen slowed to a walk, thumbs hooked into the straps of her backpack as she climbed down the embankment toward the cement culvert at the bottom.  There was a grate covering it, to keep out kids and homeless people looking for a bit of shelter, but the lock was long broken and now it served as the usual meeting place for Gwen and the friends no one knew existed but her.  

She reached into the side pocket of her backpack and pulled out the flashlight, flipping it on and shining it into the mouth of the culvert.  "Raph?” she called softly, voice echoing down the tube, but there was no sign of him.  Gwen sighed, shoulders slumping in disappointment; maybe he couldn’t sneak away from his brothers and father tonight?  Tonight was special though and he’d  _promised_ …

Usually she hung out with all of them, but lately, when they could manage it, she and Raphael had been meeting up alone.  He was different when his brothers weren’t around and she’d found herself telling him things that she hadn’t told anyone - like how her father was doing so much smack that he couldn’t afford to pay for her gymnastics anymore or how, just last month, the cops had taken a dead body out of the apartment next door - and he always listened, sitting close enough that their legs touched and their hands brushed when they both tried to reach into the bag of candy at the same time.  He was good at that.  Listening.  And talking too.  He was good at distracting her, making her laugh, or doing something crazy to try and impress her; like the time he’d tried to do a backflip and ended up scraping his elbow all to hell and then Mikey did it perfectly and Raph punched him …

“Hey girlie.”

Gwen jumped, whirling to face the stranger standing up at the top of the embankment, his back to the train tracks.  She trained her flashlight on him, watching him warily as he shuffled a few steps closer.    
  


“You lose somethin’?”

“No,” Gwen answered before she could even think to lie.  She shook her head, “I mean, yeah.”

He pulled a sympathetic face and took another step.  "Aw, what'id you lose, darlin’?“

"My cat.”  This time the lie slipped out easily.  "He ran this way, but I think he kept going …“

"He go in that pipe?”

Gwen shook her head, a lock of blonde hair slipping from the ponytail to frame her face.  "No,“ she answered and took a step back.  "It has a cover on it.  I’ll find him though …”

“Hey, wha’s in tha bag?”  His smile revealed rotten teeth hidden behind the unkempt beard.  "Got any money?“

Fear slithered into her belly, making her blood run cold as she watched the man approach. He was homeless, she assumed, and there were sores on his face and neck that made her stomach turn sour.  "No,” Gwen said, taking another backwards step.  She wasn’t stupid; she knew that he could take her discman and CDs to sell for cash.  She’d seen plenty of addicts pawn things like that at the shop down the street from her building.  

“Pretty little thing like you shouldn'ta be out ‘ere alone.”

“I’m not,” Gwen lied, eyes darting toward the culvert but there was no sign of Raphael.  "My dad’s out here too.“

The man chuckled, a rough noise that grated along her spine.  "Naw he ain’t,” he said.  "I been followin’ you since Georgia Ave.“

The beam of light in her hand dipped, like a visual representation of the sinking sensation in her stomach, and then the guy was moving toward her and Gwen was stepping back - or  _trying_ to anyway.  Her weight on the loose end of her shoelace stopped the motion abruptly, sending her sprawling back onto the patchy mix of dirt and cracked cement, the flashlight flying out of her hand and rolling away.  Her breath left her lungs in a rush and then his weight was on her, crushing her into the ground, and she tried to draw in another breath to scream but he was  _so heavy_  …

Hands tugged at her clothes and Gwen  _fought_.  She fought like a hellcat, clawing and screaming and biting, until a punch sent her reeling with stars dancing across her vision–

_"Don’t fight it, baby …”_

The sound of tearing cotton and Gwen struggled to clear her vision, desperate to get away from the feel of his hands, the stink of his breath–

And then - with a confused  _what the fuck?_  - he was gone, his weight pulled off of her, and Gwen scrambled backwards half blind with tears and her face throbbing.  The sound of muttered swears and scuffling reached her ears, a grunt of pain, and she blinked her vision clear.  The darkness was thick, but still she recognized Raphael’s shape as he danced around the man, sais catching and reflecting the glow from her discarded flashlight.  At some point, the man must have grabbed it off the ground and now he brandished it in one hand, lip curled as he waved it in defense.  

“Raphael,” Gwen sobbed in relief, and it was just enough to catch the turtle’s attention.

Distracted, Raph glanced at her just as the man swung the flashlight, putting everything he had into the blow that caught her friend in the temple and dropped him like a ton of bricks.  One sai went sailing through the air, landing with a heavy  _thunk_ against the ground barely a pace from Gwen.

For a heartbeat, she was frozen in place, her entire body trembling with fear and adrenaline as she watched the junkie shine the beam of light at the fallen mutant.  "The fuck is this thing?“ she heard him mutter, his face twisted in confusion as he nudged Raph’s side with the toe of his boot.  

"Fuck you,” Raphael growled.  He moved then, hand closing around the hilt of the one sai still in his possession, and brought it up in a smooth arc to slice along the back of the junkie’s thigh.  Flesh parted and tendons severed, bringing forth a howl of pain as the man crashed awkwardly to the ground and Raphael rolled away.

And then Gwen was moving, lurching forward to close the distance between them and, somehow, that fallen sai had found its way into her hand … and that sai found its way into the side of the junkie’s neck.  His body stiffened in shock and Gwen yanked the sai from his flesh, releasing a waterfall of crimson in its wake.  

She stumbled backwards, sai still clasped in one white-knuckled hand as the man twisted and writhed on the ground, hand pressed to the side of his neck in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood but every beat of his heart sent another gush escaping past his fingers …

Wide brown eyes stayed locked on the scene before her, unable to look away even when Raphael gently wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.  He was solid and real against her, a grounding force that she found herself clinging to even as the sound of sirens could be heard drawing closer and closer.    
  


“Gwen, I gotta go,” Raph was saying, his hands cupping her face.  "Look at me, babe,  _look at me!_   The police’re coming!  I can’t stay!“

Another sob escaped as she finally pulled her eyes from the now still body, panic rising up and threatening to choke the words off before she could speak them.  "Please don’t leave me!” she pleaded, stomach turning at the thought of being alone.  "Raphael,  _please!_ “

Raph’s mouth opened, sorrow knitting his brow ridges, "They can’t see me, Gwen.  They’ll take me and I won’t never see you again!”  He pressed a kiss to her lips, clumsy but filled with promise, and then reached up and pulled the bandana from his head.  "I love you,“ he whispered as he pressed the fabric into her hand.  Without another word, he dove for the culvert, disappearing back into the darkness just as a police cruiser appeared.

Red and blue lights flooded the night, flashlights sweeping the area as voices making incomprehensible demands filled her ears and Gwen’s knees buckled, refusing to hold her weight any longer as her stomach rebelled and she vomited into the dirt.  Tears traced down over dirty cheeks as she knelt there on the bloodied ground, shock quickly taking over.  

"Miss?  Miss, can you tell me your name?”

“Gwendolyn Miller,” came the hollow response.  

“Gwendolyn, how old are you?”

“Thirteen.”  And then, in a broken whisper, “Today’s my birthday.”

***

The nightmares had started again when Gwen had returned to New York.  Nearly every night her sleep was interrupted by images of blood on her hands and bruises on her body; the stink of fetid breath and the heat of feverish skin against her own.  And she’d wake reliving that terror, burning like acid on the back of her tongue, and she’d pace the house, some nights spiraling further and further until the sun finally rose and the kids along with it and she forced herself to function once again … but ever since she’d found Raphael in her basement, bleeding and tangled up in the straightjacket of his emotions, her sleep had been deep and dreamless.  Even last night, the sleep she’d gotten, interrupted as it had been by Donnie coming in to check on her -  _twice_ and the second time she’d thrown a football at him - had been more restful that she was used to.  

She woke with the smell of Raphael all around her; it was in the blanket pulled up under her chin, the pillow that she turned her head to nuzzle into, breathing deeply the scent of leather and metal and soap.  It was a distinctly masculine scent and it coated her skin, mixing with the baby powder and perfume that still lingered from work the night before and, for a moment, she allowed herself to just simply enjoy it because there was no doubt that it wouldn’t last.

The thought pulled her eyes open, bringing back memories of Raph storming past her, the sound of his knuckles hitting the cement wall …

And she rolled onto her back, rubbing her hand across her eyes with a sigh and prompting a sleepy mumble from Betsy next to her.  Some reunion this turned out to be.  Everything was a mess and Gwen had only made it more so by losing her temper.  Fuckin’ Raph and his fuckin’ naive alpha male bullshit.

Pushing herself up, Gwen scooted back to lean against the wall and grabbed her cell phone from the milkcrate next to the bed.  8:15.  She had two hours before she’d have to meet Ronnie.  Setting the phone aside again, her eyes swept the room with far more clarity than she’d had the night before and she found herself noticing the smaller decorations and mementos tucked in amongst the bigger.  A rabbit’s foot hung on a tack holding the corner of a poster in place and - she smiled - there was a sexy picture of Nicki Minaj in a bathtub tucked behind the corner of a Rangers pennant …

She glanced up and found a lamp hanging over her head, huge and metallic and industrial looking, and on the floor, tucked between that milk crate side table and the bed was a lump of blue yarn, knitting needles sticking out like a pair of chopsticks.  Picking it up, Gwen turned the half-finished project over in her hands and it took a moment for her to realize that it was a hat.  

Raphael was  _knitting a hat_ for Leonardo?  The absurdity of it brought another smile to her face and sent a particular sort of warmth blossoming in her chest.  It spurred her out of bed - carefully, to keep the baby sleeping a bit longer - and she plucked the red hoodie from the clothesline, wrapping it around her shoulders.  It was huge, of course, hanging nearly to her knees, and she left it unzipped over the tank and shorts she’d worn to bed, padding out through the curtained doorway on bare feet.

She poked her head into Mikey’s room and smiled at the sight that greeted her.  Sean was sprawled across the center of the bed, arms flung wide, blankets twisted around him and a comic book still held loosely in one hand.  Poor Michelangelo, on the other hand, was curled up half on the floor and half on a bean bag chair and Gwen couldn’t help but think that he looked  _cold_.  Grabbing a blanket from the bed she draped it over the sleeping terrapin, tucking it under the curve of his shell before slipping from the room again.

The lair was quiet but the faint burble of a coffee maker drew her toward the kitchen where she found a rather exhausted Donnie leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on the slowly filling carafe.  At some point over the night, he’d shed the gear that he typically wore and changed into a pair of patched jeans and even his mask had been removed.  He glanced up as she stepped into the kitchen, peering at her through his glasses with tired eyes.  "Mornin’,“ he greeted.

"Good morning,” Gwen returned.  He looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, which was really unsurprising, considering.  "Any change with Brian?“

Donnie shook his head, "It’s unlikely that he’s going to wake up.”  

Gwen nodded, unperturbed that she felt absolutely nothing at the news; Brian was scum,  _worse_ than scum, and someone like that wasn’t worth mourning.  "Oh well,“ she shrugged, callously brushing aside the topic.  "Where is everyone?”

Donnie was watching her carefully, arms crossed over his chest as he sank back against the counter.  What she actually meant was  _where’s Raph?_  but he wasn’t going to step into the middle of that mess, so instead he answered, “Sensei and Leo are meditating …”  

“Mikey and Sean are still sleeping,” Gwen added, stepping forward as the coffee finished brewing.  "Mugs?“

"Second cabinet.”  

She grabbed two, one plain green and the other white with  _Watch Out, We Got a Badass Over Here_  in black lettering on the side.  "How’s Raph’s shoulder doing?“ she asked, handing him the green mug and keeping the badass one for herself.  She was almost positive that one of the guys had given it to Raphael at some point.  

"He tore a few stitches last night.”  Donnie filled his mug and then leaned over and filled hers, earning a thanks in response.  "I patched him up when he got home.“

"He left?” Gwen asked, glancing up with curious eyes.  "To go where?“  

"I don’t know,” Donnie admitted, adding a scoop of sugar to his coffee but foregoing the cream.  "He wasn’t gone for too long though.  He does it all the time; he just needed to work off some energy after …“  

Gwen’s lips pressed into a line as she sighed, her eyes focused on the task of fixing her coffee to taste.  "Yeah, I’m sure you all heard that.”  

Donnie shifted his weight with an awkward shuffle of his feet, noticeably uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.  Discussing matters of the heart had never been as easy for him as it was for, say, Mikey.  No, Donnie was much better with facts and numbers, reliable sources and motherboards; the human mind was still a puzzle he was diligently working to figure out.  "Mhm,“ he confirmed, sipping at his coffee.  There was a beat of silence and then he was intrepidly backtracking to the original topic, "Gwen, at some point we need to talk about the comatose man in my lab …”

“Sooner rather than later,” Leo added as he stepped into the kitchen.  

Gwen turned to find him holding Betsy, his stiff posture making it clear that this was probably the first time he’d held a toddler.  Betsy, on the other hand, looked quite comfortable, staring up at him with wide blue eyes, one pudgy hand holding firmly to the leather strap bisecting his chest.  "Well good morning, sleepyhead,“ Gwen said, setting her coffee on the counter and reaching out to take the toddler into her arms.

"I found her messing with the wires over near Don’s command center,” Leo explained, with a pointed look toward his genius brother.  

“This place isn’t exactly baby-proof,” Gwen said lightly, cuddling the toddler closer.  She retrieved her coffee mug from the counter and left the kitchen, “I’m going to sit down.  If you guys want to ask your questions, I’ll answer them.”  She settled on the couch and adjusted her top so Betsy could nurse, taking a moment to brush the baby’s curls back and just enjoy the closeness; being away from her as much as Gwen was, she cherished these occasional nursing sessions.

Leo cleared his throat as he sat down and Gwen couldn’t stop her amused snort.  He looked as if he had no idea where to put his eyes.  "They’re just boobs, Leo,“ she said with a shrug.  "You’ve seen one set, you’ve seen them all, right?”

“Ah, I guess …?” he started, her words obviously doing little to make him more at-ease and Gwen’s smile widened.  

“You  _have_ seen boobs before, right?” she teased.

“What?” he shook his head.  "Yeah, of course.“  He clasped his hands together, leaning forward in the chair as he visibly pulled himself together and got down to business.  "Um, Gwen, that guy in there … he’s a Purple Dragon.”

“I know,” Gwen answered.  "I owe them money.“  She shrugged, "Well, sort of.  Technically, it’s my ex who owes them money.”

“You’re paying off his debt?” Donnie asked, perching on the opposite end of the couch.  

She gave a somber nod, “I’m helping to.  Max got into some serious trouble with them when we first moved back here.  He’s been in jail for about a year and there’s only so much he can do in there.  When he was convicted it left me in a really bad place and Ronnie - that’s Brian’s boss - she’s been pretty good about working with me.”

“Ronnie,” Donatello repeated.  "Veronica Salvatore?“

Gwen nodded again.

"Who is she?” Leo asked, eyes going to Donnie.

“She has her hands in everything,” Donnie explained.  "Drug running, prostitution, money lending, etcetera.“  His eyes went to Gwen again, "I didn’t realize that she was a Purple Dragon …”

“I guess?” Gwen shrugged again, feeling the beginnings of a headache starting behind her eyes.  It went well with the anxiety building in the pit of her belly.  "I don’t really know much about her.  I’m supposed to meet with her this morning to give her money …“

"You should,” Leo urged.  "From what Donnie told me, we don’t know if Ronnie sent Brian to you last night or if he was acting alone.  She might not know that he was even there.“

"I don’t think she did,” Gwen confirmed.  "I could be wrong but she’s never sent him to collect money from me before.“   

Leo nodded, eyes drifting away from her as he considered their options.  "Keep your meeting.  Donnie’ll set you up with a bug and we’ll listen in to make sure it doesn’t go south.”

Gwen nodded yet again, ignoring the guys as Betsy popped off and both averted their eyes, Leo even going so far as to rise awkwardly to his feet and half turn away as she fixed her shirt.  "Well, I guess I should shower then,“ she said, depositing the toddler onto the couch beside her and rising to her feet.  "Think you guys can keep her out of trouble for fifteen minutes?”

Donnie smiled, “I think we can manage.”  

Gwen graced them both with a grin as she headed toward the bathroom - and nearly crashed into Raphael.  Her hands came up, landing firmly on his chest before she backed up a step and lifted her eyes to his face.  "Sorry,“ she said, watching as his eyes ran over her, taking in the red sweatshirt she’d claimed.

"That’s mine,” he said, reaching up and plucking at the shoulder.

“Mhm.”  Gwen took a handful of the cotton and rubbed it along her neck and collarbone, eyes shining with challenge as she pushed past him.  "And I’m getting stripper glitter all over it.“


	5. Girls Have Those Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning!

“Hey!  Take it off!”

With a smug smile on her lips, Gwen ignored Raphael’s words and continued her path to the bathroom.  It was petty and immature, baiting him like that, but he could have always ignored it, right?  Oh hell, who was she kidding?  With the challenge she’d laid at his feet, she may as well have grabbed his hand and dragged him along behind her.

She turned into the bathroom and then, abruptly, spun to face him just as he stepped into the doorway.  "Oh, so  _now_ you want me to take my clothes off?“  

He drew up short, letting out a strangled, "What?  That ain’t what I–”

Gwen was already shrugging out of the hoodie though, pulling it off with none of the teasing that she used on stage but, rather, authentic and aggressive movements that betrayed the hurt she still felt at his rejection.  "Here,“ she threw it at him, his hand coming up instinctively to pluck the garment out of the air.  "Let me guess, you’re  _disappointed_ in me, right?  That’s why you have such an issue with this?  Like why the fuck did you save me all those years ago if I was only to end up  _here_?” she sneered, continuing on despite the stricken look on his face.  "You have no right to be bothered by this, Raphael,“ she continued and while she may not have been yelling, there was little room for argument in her tone.  "Because it’s none of your business.  I don’t belong to you and you made it pretty fucking clear last night that you’re not interested in changing that.”

Emotion flickered across his face, a flash of desperation and he stepped further into the room.   The sling that he’d been using for his arm was gone, but it was clear that he didn’t have full mobility in his arm yet as he reached behind him to close the door.  "Gwen, I …“

"No,” she shook her head.  "No, Raphael, you need to hear to what I have to say; you need to actually listen to me.  Because you look at me and you think  _oh poor Gwen, she needs to take her clothes off to pay off her ex-boyfriend’s debt_  but that’s not the only reason I do this!  Maybe that’s why I started, but it’s more than that now.   _I like it_.  I like the feeling the get when everyone’s attention is on me, when they’re losing their minds with lust  _because_ of me.  I like it, because I’m in control.  I chose to put myself in that position and I feel powerful because of it.  And, let me tell you, it’s a hell of a lot better than what I was doing before.“

He just stared at her, brow pinched and mouth hanging open as he struggled to understand.  But how could he?  He’d had a healthy - if unorthodox - home life, a loving father and brothers who supported and accepted him … but maybe that he didn’t understand didn’t actually matter, because his next words surprised her.

"I love you,” he said suddenly, and the way his voice cracked with the words had Gwen’s face softening, the tension easing from her muscles.  "And I want you,“ he continued, stepping forward with rounded shoulders.  "I want ya so fuckin’ bad; I always have and back when we was kids I felt like I had a chance, ya know?  You were outta my league but if I could keep ya close, then maybe ya wouldn’t find someone ya liked better, someone  _human_ that you could have, like, a regular life with.  Now yer …”  He huffed, pacing in an agitated circle as he struggled to find the words.

“I’m what?” Gwen prompted, voice soft.

“Yer fuckin’ gorgeous,” he admitted, turning back to her and pinning her with those amber eyes.  "You got kids and, ya said it yerself, ya got guys droolin’ all over ya …“

Gwen sighed, "Raph …”  That wasn’t what she’d meant!

“No, ’s your turn to listen.”  He stepped forward, tossing the hoodie onto the counter and settling his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her to face the mirror.  "Look,“ he urged, stepping up behind her.  He touched her hair, running his fingers down the length as he pushed it back over her shoulders.  "Your skin is like fuckin’ porcelain.”  She gave him a dubious look in the mirror but he ignored her, golden eyes running over her body but there was nothing lecherous in his gaze.  "Ya got this little nose and these pretty lips … an’ then look at me.“

Gwen eyes went from her own familiar reflection to his, so different from the memory she’d held onto all these years.  Once, they’d been close in height but now he towered over her, dwarfing her in every single way, but there was more to see than all that impressive musculature and those scars.  She studied the lines of his face, older and wider with maturity, and the dapples of color on his scales, the raw skin around the stitched wound on his shoulder, the growth rings on his plastron - and there wasn’t one fiber of her being that didn’t want him.  All of him.  Every single piece.  He was still Raphael, even if he was far bigger and meaner-looking than she remembered.  Finally, she met his eyes, and the raw vulnerability she saw there, as he waited for the rejection he was sure would come, nearly brought her to her knees.  

"What sort of chance do I have with you?” he asked in a whisper.  "Yer like an angel and I’m a fuckin’ _mutant_.  I can’t get a normal job an’ support you an’ yer family - fuck! - I can’t even take ya on a real date.“

They were teetering on the edge of  _something_ , and Gwen knew that one wrong word could break the moment beyond repair … but the right word, well …

"Raph … we were young,” she started, the words causing him to pull in a deep breath and look away from her.  "No,“ Gwen said quickly, putting her back to the mirror and turning to face him.  She reached up and touched his face, gently encouraging him to meet her eyes.  "We were young, but that doesn’t mean that what we felt back then wasn’t real.  I mean, if it wasn’t real then wouldn’t it have faded?” she asked.  "Wouldn’t it have gone away?“  Ten years was a long time; ten years of therapy, boyfriends, girlfriends, drugs, pregnancies … "But it didn’t.  For either of us.”  She shrugged, “Yeah, there were other guys, other relationships, but none of them were  _you_ , Raphael.”  

He drew in a shaking breath and brought his hand up to run fingertips lightly over her upper arm, the skin smooth under his touch as he traced the lines of the tattoos there.  "For me there wasn’t ever anyone else.“  He met her eyes, "It was  _always_ you.”

Gwen’s heart was hammering in her chest, the brush of his fingertips lighting a fire under her skin, the air between them thick with honesty and attraction as she smoothed her hand over his chest.  "I don’t care that you’re a mutant turtle,“ she assured him, hands sliding around his sides as she pulled him closer.  His skin, the ridges and valleys that made up his shell, it was all so interesting to her fingers and she couldn’t help but explore.  "I didn’t care ten years ago and I don’t care now.”

“S'easy to  _say_ ,” he mumbled, twitching away a bit as her fingertips trailed over his ribs.

He was ticklish, she realized, the discovery bringing a smile to her face.  "So let me prove it to you.“  She reached up and grabbed the ends of his bandana where they trailed over his shoulder, pulling him down closer so she could press her lips to his …

The intimate contact was like the breaking of a dam, releasing a flood of pent up emotions and arousal, and then his huge hands were everywhere at once, pulling her closer, sliding along her sides and downward to cup her ass and boost her up.  Hooking her legs around his hips, Gwen’s own hands gripped his shoulders, dragging a faint hiss of pain from his lips and prompting her to readjust her hold, breaking the kiss long enough to murmur an apology.  

"S'okay,” he answered, dipping his head to lavish attention along the column of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, leaving goosebumps and tingling skin his wake.

She wanted to see him, all of him, and Gwen pushed the mask off his head, letting it drop to the floor in favor of exploring the sensitive skin where carapace and flesh met at the back of his shoulders.  Her wandering hands drew a delicious moan from his throat, the noise rumbling through his chest and turning her right-the-fuck  _on_.  Abandoning her explorations, Gwen arched her back and pulled her tank top off, lust-darkened eyes savoring the look of wonder on his face as the whole of his attention settled on the bared breasts in front of him.  

“Shit,” he breathed, drawing the word out with a hint of reverence.  Carefully, he took a step forward and lowered her onto the edge of the counter, moving in between her thighs and reaching for her.  His hands cupped her breasts, lips parting as the softness filled his palms and her nipples tightened under his touch.  

The way he looked at her, like she was the most amazing thing in the world, had her quickly coming unraveled; none of the people she danced for ever looked at her like that and Max certainly hadn’t.  Raph’s touches may have been tentative, but there was nothing but surety in Gwen’s own hands as she reached for his belt, tugging roughly at the leather and giving a frustrated huff when it didn’t easily come undone.  She lifted her eyes, expecting him to take over, but instead she saw indecision written all over his face as he straightened and dropped his hands to his sides.  "What’s wrong?“ she demanded, hooking her fingers into the leather at his waist and giving another cajoling tug.

Raph glanced over his shoulder toward the door.  "Ya wanna do this ‘ere?” he asked, jabbing a thumb toward the door.  "With everyone home?“

Gwen blinked.  Wasn’t it obvious?  "Don’t you?”

“Well,  _yeah_ …”  He chewed his lower lip, eyes running over her body again, and Gwen heard him swallow loudly.

Something close to panic rose up inside of her at the thought of him saying no when he was so close to saying yes.  She  _needed_ this.  She needed some semblance of control again when so much of her life was spinning in every direction and Gwen was sure that a second rejection from Raphael would shatter her.  Desperation had her forcing her face into a sultry smile and Gwen leaned back against the mirror and scooted out of the tiny shorts, sliding them down her legs until they dropped off painted toenails, and then she spread her thighs.  

“ _Fuck_ ,” the word rode out on a sigh of longing and a flush warmed Raphael’s skin, pupils dilating and nearly swallowing the gold of his irises.

“So let’s do it,” she purred, reaching out and catching his hand.  She pulled him closer, bringing his hand up to her mouth and slipping one digit between her lips, teasing with her tongue, sucking until his breath hitched and only then did she guide him toward the juncture between her thighs.  

He hesitated though, muscles tensing and easily stopping the downward motion of his arm.  He licked his lips, lifting his eyes to meet her gaze, “Gwen, I ain’t never done this …”

“It’s okay,” she said, not the least bit surprised by his confession.  It was hard to imagine that mutant turtles living in the sewers of New York had women beating down their door for a quick lay.  Hell, she certainly would have balked at the idea of it, had her opinion not been colored with love and memories of their time together.  "Just trust me?“

He sighed again and nodded, muscles relaxing and he allowed her to guide his movements again, one thick finger slipping between her folds and he found her wet and impossibly warm, her body opening to his intrusion with little effort.  His eyes flicked up to her face, seeking approval, but the only sound she was capable of making was a throaty moan.  "Shh,” he whispered, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.  

Gwen’s eyes lit.  There was the adrenaline junkie show-off that she knew and loved!  "What’s the matter?“ she teased, wiggling her hips against his hand.  "Afraid they’re gonna hear us?”

His smile widened, accepting the challenge she laid out before him and all hesitation faded from his motions.  With his free hand, he reached over and turned on the faucet full blast to try and drown out the noises that would inevitably come, the other picking up tempo as he plunged his finger inside of her over and over again.  

“Curl your finger,” Gwen instructed, muscles tensing as he did as he was told.  She braced herself against the mirror at her back, lifting her hips so his rough motions sent shock waves through her pelvis, the pressure building and building …

“Get inside me,” she growled, shoving his hand away suddenly, and Raphael didn’t need to be told twice.  Quick motions had his clothes gone within seconds, the heavy leather hitting the floor with a surprisingly solid sound, and then he was reaching for her hips, scooting her closer to the edge of the counter.

“Now,” she demanded, not the slightest bit deterred by the sheer size of him or the anatomical differences between him and a human male - which really weren’t as extreme as she’d always imagined.  

“Will I hurt ya?” he asked, genuine concern crossing his features, but Gwen shook her head emphatically.

“Fuck no.  Now  _do_ it.”

“Yeah, okay,” he rasped, breath shuddering as he began to ease himself inside of her.  He watched her face, the way her mouth fell open, how her gasps turned into moans that continued to grow louder with every inch he sank inside.

“Jesus  _fucking_ Christ!” Gwen gasped, the words coming out far louder than she meant them to as the orgasm rocked through her body, hips jerking, and he abandoned his grip there to press a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the near frantic gasps.

“Shh!” Raphael said again, muscles trembling as she clenched around him and then a gush of wetness had him glancing down in surprise.  "Holy shit,“ he breathed, widened eyes fastening on her face again - just as she bit down into the meat of his thumb and he jerked his hand away with a hiss.  "That was so fuckin’ hot!”

“Come on, focus,” she ground out, head spinning with ebbing waves of pleasure.  " _Faster_.“  And he obliged, backing his length out of her before plunging solidly into her depths, another gasping moan falling from her lips.  His control was tenuous, as evident in the quake of his hips with every thrust, the concentration on his face, and Gwen touched his chin to tip his face up.  "Look at me.”

He did as he was told, locking his eyes on hers, and the intimacy of the eye-contact sent him over the edge with another jerk of his hips and a growled, “Ah,  _fuck_!”

“Yes,” Gwen sighed, her body clenching again as he nearly collapsed atop her, one hand braced against the counter top but the other slid under her waist, arching her back as he dropped kisses between her breasts.  Her hands ran over his head, the back of his neck, those mouth-watering shoulders, familiarizing herself with every unique pattern on his scales, every scar that marred his flesh …

He nuzzled into the side of her neck, breathing in her scent and bringing a contented smile to her lips. “I love you,” he rumbled against the skin under her ear.

“I love you, too,” she answered.

“Say it again?”

“I love you, Raphael.”


	6. Even if That's a Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated R for language and some suggestive content/adult themes

There was a flurry of bugs under his skin, causing muscles to twitch and his temper to rise, irritation and anger and confusion all thundering through him until he was unable to sit still and, really, Raph knew better than to even try.  So he paced instead, his movements sharp and an almost predatory gleam in his eye as he moved his considerable bulk back and forth through the tight confines of his bedroom.  

What the fuck had he been thinking?  Well, he _ hadn't been _ , clearly.  He'd caught sight of creamy skin and come-hither eyes and his brain had effectively shut down and there was certainly no going back once she'd slipped off those tiny shorts.  Even now, twisted up as he was, he could still feel the supple firmness as his hands gripped her hips, could see the faint silvery sheen of stretch marks low on her belly, could smell the scent of her hair and her arousal . . .

And with a growl, Raphael dropped down onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands as the painfully recent memories sent an intense wave of arousal through his abdomen.  

What the fuck was  _ wrong  _ with him?  How could he - either of them! - be so irresponsible?  They hadn't used protection and, after the fastest shower of his life, the silent lair that had greeted him as he'd slipped out the door, closing it oh-so softly behind him, had been telling.  They all  _ knew _ .  Leo, Mikey, Donnie, even  _ Sensei  _ knew what had happened behind that closed door and while there was a small part of him that wanted to be smug, to rub it in his brothers' faces that he'd finally gotten laid, it was overpowered by the embarrassment he felt.  

His performance had sucked!  He hadn't lasted long at all; he'd had no clue what he was doing.  How many fucking pornos had he watched in his life?  But when faced with the real thing he'd turned into a bumbling idiot!

He  _ had _ made her come though.  That had to count for something, right?  And Gwen hadn't been mad or anything.  She'd assured him that each time would be a little longer, a little better . . . and that meant that it would happen again.  The very thought of it sent another twinge through his belly and he felt his ego inflating just a bit at his silent pep talk.  

The chime of a cell phone had his head jerking up, golden eyes going to the iphone on his bedside table.  Gwen's phone.  Curiosity had him reaching for it and reading the name under  _ incoming call _ : Max.  Her ex.  The father of her kids.  The one who was in  _ jail _ , he'd overheard.  For a moment, Raphael was very tempted to answer, to tell the prick just what sort of mess he'd gotten Gwen and his children into but then the soft whisper of footsteps had him nearly dropping the phone and he turned to find the blonde in question standing in the doorway.  She was wrapped in a towel, her still-damp hair hanging around her shoulders in a tangled mess and she greeted his slightly sheepish expression with a smile.

"You snoopin' on my calls?" she asked, circling the bed and plucking the phone up to see who called.

"No," Raph quickly scoffed but when she arched an eyebrow at him he amended: "Maybe."

Gwen grinned, swiping her thumb across the screen and putting the phone to her ear to listen to the message.  It was brief and Raphael's sensitive ears easily caught the slightly slurred words coming through the speaker.   _ Hey Gwen, it's me.  Can you pick up next time?  I really want to see Sean and, um, can we talk about you bringing him for a visit--ah, shit, I gotta go.  I'll try to call you tomorrow--FUCK! _

Gwen made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat and tossed the cell phone onto the bed, immediately forgetting it as she dropped into a crouch and began rifling through her bag.  "You guys don't have a brush," she said, then glanced up at him and snickered, "Obviously."   

"No, we don't," Raphael answered absently.  "That was yer ex . . ."

"Yeah," Gwen shrugged, pulling a big paddle brush from the bag.  "He wants me to bring Sean to see him but I don't want to.  I don't think it'd be good for him, you know?"  She settled down next to him and began running the brush through her hair, brown eyes drifting to him and a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"I guess," he answered.  Truthfully, he didn't have a fucking clue what would be good for Sean and what wouldn't; he barely knew the kid and he was in no way qualified to be a parent . . .  

"Max was a shitty father," Gwen continued conversationally.  "Sean deserves better than that."  

And, once again, Raphael was left with not a single clue as to what he should say.  Was this going to be a conversation about how he should be a father figure to Gwen's poor kids?  Because -  _ holy shit! _ \- he wasn't sure he was ready for that!  

"Gwen," he said suddenly, her name popping out of his mouth before he was even sure he wanted to say anything.  

"Yeah?"

His shoulders hunched, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.  "What is this?"

Gwen paused mid-brush stroke, eyes settling on him.  "What's what?" she asked with a shrug, the motion causing the towel to slip distractingly and draw his eyes downward.

_ Focus, Raphael! _

"What's," he made a vague gesture between them, "this?  Us?"  He sighed and hitched a thumb in the direction of the bathroom, "I mean, what did  _ that  _ mean?"  

There was a beat of silence as she stared at him, indecision flickering across her face before she finally shrugged yet again, and this time the towel did slip to reveal one pink tipped breast.  "It was sex, Raph."  She shook her head, setting the brush aside and pulling her mass of hair over one shoulder as she began to weave it into a braid, seemingly unaware of the tumult of emotions currently overwhelming him.  "Why do we have to put a label on it?  I love you, you love me, let's just see what happens."

He grit his teeth against that emotional storm, unsure of what it was he even wanted to hear.  That she was his girlfriend now?  Some sort of promise that they'd be together forever?  Yeah, maybe.  She'd talked about them getting a second chance and then . . . then they'd connected back in the bathroom; he'd  _ felt  _ it.  Raphael rose abruptly to his feet, unable to sit still with so many conflicting thoughts whirling through his head.  "Yeah, okay," he snapped, heading for the door.  "Whatever."

"Raphael!" Gwen called after him, but he kept walking as if he hadn't heard her.

***

An hour later and Gwen was knocking on the door of one of her closest friends, weight shifting from one sneakered foot to the other in impatience.  "Tembi!" she called, going on tiptoes to try and peer through the tiny window near the top of the door.  "Tem!  Open up!" she shouted, banging her closed fist against the door.  With a huff, Gwen pulled her cell phone out and dialed her friend's number for the umpteenth time that morning.  In her ear, it rang and rang, and she pounded on the door again - only to have it swing inward to reveal a curvy little black woman wrapped in a hot-pink robe.  

"Geez Gwen, what's up?" Tembi asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes and further smudging bright makeup left over from the night before.  

"Hannah said that you have my bag," Gwen said, stepping into the apartment without waiting invitation.

"Yeah, yeah, sweetie I've got it," she answered in her adorably squeaky voice, bustling into the living room.  "Hey what happened last night, sugar?  You just left . . ."

Gwen shook her head, brushing off the concern that pinched Tembi's rounded features.  "I wasn't feeling too hot," was her vague answer as she picked up the bag from where it had been deposited on the royal purple couch.  "Decided to go home."

Tembi was watching her closely, tight curls decorated with purple and pink streaks sticking out wildly and her full lips twisted into a pout.  "Gwennie, I stopped by your house last night.  I was gonna drop off ya bag but you weren't there."

Gwen pulled the wad of cash out of the bag, sinking down to sit on the couch as she began counting it out, but Tembi's words had her pausing in the action.  Shit.  Glancing up, she absently blew a strand of bleached hair from her face, the lie spinning even as the words passed her lips.  "Alright, fine.  I had friends from Boston come into town unexpectedly so I took the kids to their hotel for the night."

Tembi settled into the worn cow-print armchair, her expression betraying her skepticism.  "You left work without telling anyone so that you could get your kids out of bed and go to some hotel for the night?  Without your money?"  She sniffed, "I can smell bullshit all over that story, Gwennie.  You in trouble, ain't ya?"

"I'm not in trouble," Gwen stated, rising to her feet again.  

"Ain't nothing to be ashamed 'bout," Tembi insisted, waving away her friend's protest.  "We're all in some sort've trouble.  Goes with the profession, baby."

Well, she wasn't wrong about that one, Gwen silently admitted as she chewed at her lip indecisively.  Even if she could tell Tembi about Brian showing up, she couldn't exactly tell her about the mutant turtles - who also happened to be freaking  _ ninjas  _ \- appearing out of the shadows to help her out.  Nor that she'd spent the night in the sewer home that they shared with their mutant rat father and then fucked one of them in the bathroom just this morning . . .

"Okay, here's the deal," Gwen said suddenly, dropping back down to perch on the edge of the couch.  She pulled in a deep breath, leaning forward with elbows on knees, hands clasped, and Tembi's eyes lit in response.  

"Oh, this gonna be good, ain't it?" the other dancer asked, leaning so far forward that Gwen was pretty sure her ample breasts were about to spill right out of the loosely tied robe.  

"No, it's not  _ good _ ," Gwen chastised.  "For fucks sake, it  _ sucks _ ."  She huffed, "Just shut up and let me talk, alright?"

"Gawd, fine."  Tembi waved a hand, electric green fingernails catching the eye, "So go ahead and  _ talk  _ then."

Gwen sighed again, "You know how Max is in jail?"  An eager nod.  "Well, he owes someone money and I've been working to pay this person back.  Something happened though and I . . ."  She paused, "I have someone helping me fix it."

"Your 'friends from Boston'?" Tembi asked, complete with finger quotes.  

"Yeah."

Tembi stared at her for a heartbeat and then her face broke into a delighted grin, "You hired a fuckin' hitman, didn't you?"

"Oh my god,  _ what? _ " Gwen asked, unable to stop the laugh that escaped.  "No!"  Well, not  _ really _ .  

"Yeah, aight," Tembi answered with a knowing smile.  

"Okay, I'm outta here," Gwen announced, getting to her feet again.  "I've gotta go meet this person."

That sobered Tembi though and she rose to her feet as well, concern etched across her face as she pulled Gwen in for a hug, "You be careful, yeah baby?"

"Don't worry.  I've got this, Tem," Gwen assured her, pulling the shorter girl in for a fierce hug.  "I'll call you later, okay?"

"You'd better.  I'm gonna worry."

"You don't have to worry," Gwen assured her.  "I'll call you."

***

The awkwardness that hung in the air was thick enough to cut with a katana, stretched between the four brothers despite their distance from each other.  Donnie was in the Party Wagon, parked beneath a nearby overpass and away from prying eyes and the other three were spread out on the rooftops, watching as Gwen left her friend's house with a black and white striped purse slung over one shoulder.  

None of them had said a word, though Raph would've had to be blind not to notice how Mikey was nearly bursting at the seams.  He'd bounced around his older brother, yammering on about everything under the freaking sun but pointedly  _ not  _ mentioning what had happened that morning.  It was only a matter of time, Raphael knew.  Eventually Mikey wouldn't be able to hold it in any longer and all those questions, all the teasing, would start.  And then Raph would have'ta beat the hell out've him.

Down on the street, Gwen flagged a cab and slid into the back seat, casting one quick searching glance over her shoulder at the rooftops but all three of them had plenty of practice when it came to staying out of sight.  

"Okay guys, she's Oscar Mike," came Donnie's voice over the walkie talkie taped to his shoulder.

Barely a second later, Mikey's voice followed, "Wait, what's that mean again?"

"On the move," Leo's voice crackled through the speaker.

Raph sighed, eyes rolling hard enough to nearly escape his skull and he reached up to press the button, "Try to keep up, dingbat."  And with that, he ran and leapt, easily sailing across the space between this building and the next.  His injured shoulder smarted with the landing, but the red masked turtle didn't slow, barrelling across the surface and taking the next jump easily . . .

Muscles limbered with each leap and somersault, the warm late-summer air bringing a flush of exertion to the huge turtle's face and by the time the cab down on the streets was pulling to the curb and Gwen stepping out, Raphael's head felt clearer.  Physical activity always helped and fuck if he hadn't  _ needed  _ it.  Whatever his brothers had to say would be dealt with later and he pushed the thoughts out of his head to focus instead on his . . . girlfriend?  Fuckin' labels.  

***

_ Ting-a-ling! _

The happy chime of the bell hanging on the door of the diner had the stoic dark-haired woman glancing up from her cell phone and Gwen, trying desperately to ignore the  _ thud-a-thud _ of her heart in her chest, offered Veronica Salvatore a forced smile in greeting as she approached.  

The classy and rather elegant brunette had claimed the last booth in the row that put her back to the wall, but the booth just before hers was claimed by three men all sporting purple hued tattoos.  Gwen's eyes ran over them as she passed, recognizing one as Brian's younger brother, Jeff, and another had features similar enough to Brian that she nearly did a double take.  The older brother that she'd heard about.

"Good morning, Gwen," Ronnie greeted, slipping the phone into the Prada clutch sitting on the table in front of her, next to a steaming mug of tea.  "Have a seat."

With another glance at the trio of muscle heads, Gwen did as she was told, sliding into the booth and reluctantly putting her back to Ronnie's bodyguards.  Her racing heart hadn't slowed but knowing that she had her own bodyguards waiting in the wings had her voice clear and steady when she said, "G'morning."  

"Your children are well?" Veronica asked, neatly shaped brows rising with the question.  

Gwen swallowed and steeled herself.  This was no different than any other time they'd met, she told herself.  Only it  _ was _ ; Veronica never had this many guys with her and when one reached over the back of the booth and tapped her shoulder, Gwen nearly jumped out of her skin.  "They're, um . . ."  She rifled through her bag and then pressed the wad of cash into the guy's hand.  "Yeah, they're fine," she finished.  And they'd  _ stay  _ that way.

The faint sound of shuffling bills came from behind her and Ronnie's dark eyes shifted just to Gwen's left, undoubtedly waiting for a sign that all of the money was there - or  _ not  _ in this case.  "I know it's not all there," Gwen started, voice low, "but I have a shift tonight.  I can meet you again in the morning."

Ronnie sighed, the pleasant expression she'd been wearing on her pretty face hardening just a touch around the eyes, deepening the faint lines there.  "Gwen, I am a very busy woman."  Her head tipped, "Do you think I have nothing better to do with my Sunday morning than meet  _ you  _ at a cheap diner?"

Gwen's lips parted, but before she could speak, Ronnie was continuing: "You and I have a deal and thus far, I've been keeping up my end of the bargain.  I can't keep Max safe if you're not doing your part."  

"I understand that," Gwen said quickly, keenly aware of the fact that Raphael and his brothers were listening in.  "And I promise you that I'll have the rest of the money by morning."

"You typically make more than this," Ronnie said suddenly.  "What happened last night?"

There was a beat of silence as Gwen's thoughts spun wildly and the first excuse that formed was that it had been a quiet night - but she couldn't say that.  Lust was never quiet on the weekends, that's why the majority of her shifts were weekend nights.  "I was sick," she lied, making a vague gesture toward her midsection.  "Stomach . . . thing."  She shook her head, "I was off my game; just didn't make as much."

"Interesting," Ronnie said, and the cadence of her voice proved it to be anything  _ but _ .  She sipped at the tea sitting in front of her, nose wrinkling slightly at the taste, before pushing the mug away.  "Travis mentioned that Brian was heading over to Lust last night," she continued, pinning Gwen with her steady gaze.  

"I didn't see him," Gwen lied again and she really hated how much her palms were sweating.  "Maybe he came in while I was backstage?"

Veronica made an  _ mmm _ sound in her throat as she leaned back in the booth, hands folded in her lap.  "No one has seen Brian since last night."

Gwen shook her head again, shoulders twitching upwards in a shrug, and when she spoke that steadiness was back in her voice and the lie rolled off her tongue easily this time, "I'm sorry, but I haven't seen him either."  

Silence and that fixed gaze again, but this time Gwen met those smooth dark eyes confidently and, after a moment Veronica nodded.  "It was good seeing you, Gwen.  I'll send someone by in the morning to collect the balance."

"Yeah, okay," Gwen nodded, sliding out of the booth.  "Good seeing you too."  Another lie.

She turned and started for the door, unable to stop herself from glancing at the bodyguards again as she passed their booth, and the matching glares from Brian's brothers were enough to send a shiver down her spine.


End file.
